


he was my ice-light / slow star weaving toward me--

by ultraviolence



Series: blue is the colour of longing [1]
Category: Catalyst: A Rogue One Novel - James Luceno, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Lots of kissing, M/M, mindless fluff/lowkey angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 16:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11189076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultraviolence/pseuds/ultraviolence
Summary: Thrawn and Krennic, two young prodigies, in seven ficlets. Set in the Brentaal Futures Program. AU.





	he was my ice-light / slow star weaving toward me--

**Author's Note:**

> This was an AU that [uptownhuxyouup](http://archiveofourown.org/users/allhailjeremybrett/pseuds/uptownhuxyouup) infected me with, and which we subsequently RPed shamelessly. The basic premise is an AU where the Republic made contact with the Chiss Ascendancy much sooner, and they sent exchange students to the Brentaal Futures Program. Really, really, shamelessly AU. Prompt is from inkstay: "the seven deadly sins as virtues". 
> 
> A [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/awkwardaustrian/playlist/6mQlS93dpNuuEkT7IvoAbs) to help you get in the mood. Enjoy!

**I. LUST**

The party was raucous, loud, a revolt against the night, besieging the club from all sides, the oldest myth in existence. Thrawn sat at the bar, nursing a non-alcoholic drink, never one to drink or dance or laugh in excess. 

The noise of the celebrations almost drowned out the noise of the familiar footsteps, almost bounding, boyishly enthusiastic, but he could make out the sound anywhere. He turned, half-smiling, finding Orson there, a vivid, lively presence, his eyes glittering with an almost childish delight.

“Had fun?” He asked, taking a seat beside him, and Thrawn instinctively turned towards him, like he was sunlight amongst all the coruscating artificial lights of the city, or a shard of light shining on the ice that covers the surface of his homeworld. He always thought that Orson had some luminous quality about him.

“I do. I’ve had fun watching you,” he told him, not entirely a lie, watching him laugh and grin, slapping a friendly hand on Thrawn’s shoulder.

“One of these days you had to stop flattering me.” 

“Why should I?” Thrawn replied, matter-of-factly. “I was simply admiring what’s there.”

The other boy smiled, not bashful in the slightest—one of the things that Thrawn loved about him—and tilted his head slightly, angling it so he could look at him better. Thrawn wondered what he saw when he’s looking at him like that.

“You have beautiful eyes,” he said, out of the blue, and Thrawn could feel heat rising to his face. If anyone could make him blush, especially in a public setting, that would be Orson Krennic.

“And you. They reminded me of the glaciers back home.”

He could hardly remember what he said next—everything a prologue—although it must have involved something about his experience on the surface of Csilla and another thing about art, but their lips met (it must have been the alcoholic drinks he’d consumed prior to this interaction, he thought, later on) and he could feel something vast lancing through him, not an entirely alien desire, but…different. It was perhaps the etymology of love.

“Come back with me,” he asked Orson, a whisper in a world full of loud noises, partly a confession, disbelief—still—gripped his heart.

Later, they woke up on the couch, Thrawn on top of him, sunlight enveloping them through the drawn curtains. They didn’t manage it—the combination of exhaustion from the midterms, the revels of the past night, and the alcoholic drinks sent Thrawn to sleep much earlier than he’d have liked—but there was something between them, not something new, but a vessel containing something else. A new possibility. 

He didn’t dare hope, but when they ate breakfast together, Orson in borrowed— _his_ —clothes, he couldn’t help but think that maybe this is a start. Maybe this is how home feels like when it a _person_ instead of a place.

* * *

**II. GLUTTONY**

Krennic had never been one for self-restraint.

That was Thrawn’s forte. Well, had been. It was barely a memory, what had transpired between them approximately a standard month ago, since the ghost of it sat on Orson’s bed almost every night, and a memory was something dead, buried, and gone. A ghost, however, is very much alive, and the ghost of a kiss that led to a flurry of lips and tongues and hands and skin getting to know each other is a murderer, singing the song of ghastly desire, and the origin of something else. Something much worse.

Something he is not yet ready for. So Krennic slowly distanced himself from Thrawn, finding someone else—whose eyes and smiles and lips do not remind him of the older boy—to date, throwing himself headlong into the relationship.

But things never seem to work out the way he intended them to work, with people. That is why a part of him preferred machines, manmade beings with hearts of durasteel. 

He found Thrawn after class—or rather, he approached him, nervously, as if he was going into a gun fight instead of talking to someone who had been his friend until a month ago—about to leave, always going on a straight line, rarely deviating from the course he’d set for himself.

Rarely, if ever, gluttonous. So it was to Krennic’s surprise that, after their talk on the deserted northern stairwell—one filled with nervous glances and blushes, red for him, purple for Thrawn, a colour that suits him well—he kissed him wolfishly, greedy. They were insatiable for each other.

“I’ll see you after classes. My place.” Krennic told him, trying to tell himself that this is just a new kind of lust, that this was just another fling, but the way Thrawn’s face lights up when he mentioned it was like lightning, an obscure expression told only in the stories of old and newborn stars.

He felt like their own story had just begun.

* * *

**III. GREED**

“I never could understand the way your Republic works.”

Thrawn frowned lightly, putting his datapad on the small coffee table sitting in what passes as the living room. He’d had education on economics before, of course, and technically, the class that he took was supplementary, so it only had a minor bearing on his overall academic standing, but it was a topic that he found so confusing, so alien, that he can’t help but wondered about it.

“Is it about the corporations? The big shots?” Orson poked his head out from the small partitioned area that he calls his studio, holding a specialised stylus. His hair looked like it had seen better days, and Thrawn knows that he’d been working on something again. He smiled slightly. He loved this about him: the drive, the determination, the brilliant path he carved for himself. And he never sacrificed the aesthetic entirely in the name of the function. Thrawn liked that about him, too.

“Well, yes. Yes and no. Why would you need personal and organisational profit when the government could easily provide it for you? For instance, I do not have to pay for anything, personally. The Ascendancy covers it for me. Wouldn’t it be more efficient that way?”

Orson furrowed his eyebrows, deep in concentration. The levers and gears of his mind whirring, trying to find an appropriate response. That much was obvious. Thrawn steps closer, wrapped an arm loosely around his waist and pulled him in for an impromptu kiss. Krennic grins afterwards.

“You know that you could use personal profit for a lot of things, right? When I’m rich and famous, I’ll be sure to get us a nice getaway somewhere. How do you feel about Iloh? Or Scarif?”

That was beside the point, and Thrawn could sense that Orson definitely knows more, had more to say about the matter, but for one reason or another, he chose not to express his opinion. Or he had been, before. After all, this isn’t their first time having an intellectual discussion about this. Despite what they say about Orson, he had enough social tact to avoid the landmines, at least. Thrawn went ahead and stole another kiss from him, liking how his body and lips felt against him.

“Anywhere is fine so long as I’m with you.”

“Flatterer,” Orson said, and kissed him again.

* * *

**IV. SLOTH**

“Are you going anywhere else today?” 

Thrawn asked, after Krennic had just discarded his jacket. He thought about it for a moment, going through the mental list of parties and social events and to-do lists.

“No. I think. Why?”

He sat beside him on the couch, throwing one arm around him, an instinctive gesture, and the other boy responded by nuzzling closer, resting his head on Krennic’s chest, an equally instinctive gesture. It was what they are at this point: casual touches and stolen kisses on the hallway, nights spent on the other’s bed, practically living with each other, claiming each other’s living space. And he can’t get enough of him.

“I was thinking that maybe we could have a different, quieter weekend for once…” Thrawn said, drawing back slightly to look at him, and Krennic felt the gentle, slightly cool touch of his lips on his cheek. “We could stay in. I have holomovies. I know you have so little time for them. We can catch up.”

Krennic’s lips quirked into a smile, and he felt Thrawn’s lips on that, too. 

“Sounds like a plan,” he pulled him in, tilting his jaw so he could kiss him better, fingers skimming his skin lightly under the fabric of his shirt. “Maybe we could do _other activities_ after that,” he suggested, lazily, sighing contentedly in-between the kisses they are giving each other.

“Anything is better than the endless pile of homework.”

“ _I’m_ rubbing off on you,” Krennic told him, laughing.

* * *

**V. WRATH**

Orson was late. Thrawn checked the chronometer again and again, alternating between looking at the one displayed in the living room and the one in his datapad, pacing restlessly between rooms, his thoughts a mess.

He wasn’t exactly the most punctual person in the galaxy, and there are instances where he’s late even to their own dates—which reminded him of the really first one that they’ve had, back when they were still friends—but this was outrageous, even for him. He’d try comm-ing him, of course, and left him messages, too, but either nothing gets through, or he didn’t read them and ignored them, because there was radio silence on Orson’s end.

It was worrying. It was certainly infuriating.

When the buzzer finally rang, Thrawn practically ran to the door, opened it to find Orson with a split lip and rumpled clothes, his eyes still steel-hard. Whatever he was going to say about him being late, it died on his lips, and he stepped aside wordlessly, letting him in.

“What happened?” He asked, when the door had been closed and locked behind him.

“Nothing. I’m fine. It’s just a small scuffle,” the other boy told him, running a finger through his hair. He looked angry.

“Sit down,” Thrawn said, coolly, mind already racing to where he kept the first aid kit, already cataloguing all the things that he’s going to do. “I’ll patch you up.”

The steadiness in his own voice surprised him. He returned a moment later, finding Orson on the couch (he did as he was told, for _once_ , Thrawn thought), and started pulling out the bacta and the bandages.

“Now tell me what happened,” he asked him, smoothly, kneeling in front of him to take a better look at his injuries. Thankfully, nothing seems like it needed serious medical attention, although he did worry about the bruises, which became evident when Orson unbuttoned his uniform tunic. He ran a finger lightly over them—a cool touch—and watched him shudder, the blue of his skin a patch of sky on Krennic’s pale skin.

“It was just a fight,” he said, flinching, not from the pain but from the truth. It was evident from the way he evaded the question. “One of the guys back in the lab. He made some rude remark.”

“What rude remark?” 

Orson didn’t flinch this time, but the long pause that follows his question was a language of its own. An expression of some hidden undercurrent, the still uncharted territories of Orson’s rage. Thrawn waited, patiently applying the bacta. There is an untold story here, and he wanted Orson to be able to tell it in his own time, even if he still felt the residual concern clouding his own judgment. He planted a kiss on a bruise on Orson’s hand, suddenly, red eyes looking up to meet his gaze.

“You can tell me. I was so worried about you, you know…”

Krennic wavered, his expression softened. Thrawn kissed another bruise of his, a little more passionately. 

“Nothing I should repeat here,” he finally said. “It’s not worth repeating.”

“Is it about me?”

It’s not hard to guess. The Republic is a collection of different star systems and various species under a common goal, but the Chiss are not a member of the Republic—the Ascendancy thinks that it's better to stay out of it since they could manage well enough on their own, not to mention that they are simply too proud a people to ever join such a thing, although they’re not above a little cultural exchange through this student exchange in the Republic’s own Futures Program—and despite the professed tolerance, there are always exceptions. And Thrawn isn’t completely deaf to what the rest of the student body had been saying about him and his fellow exchange students. Especially ones who are like him.

Orson’s silence—another one that follows his question—tells him what he already knows and suspected. Thrawn nods, more to himself than to the other, checked the other for the last time, tidies up the first aid kit, and stood up.

“You can tell me about it later, then,” he tucked the kit under his arm. “You don’t need to protect me from such truths, Orson. You know full well that I’m more than capable of fighting my own battles.”

Something flared up within him, a fire, and Thrawn watched for a moment, transfixed, fascinated.

“But I _care_ about you,” he debated, heat rising to his cheeks, hand balled into a fist. “They shouldn’t have said those things about you. You shouldn’t have to put up with _that_ ,” he added, indignantly. 

Thrawn puts down the first aid kit on the nearest surface he can find and stride over to him. 

“People are always going to say bad things, Orson,” he told him, gently, sitting down beside him. “It’s how we deal with them that says a lot about our characters.”

There was another silence, and Thrawn pulled him close. He relaxed visibly, letting out a sigh, the tension from his body dissipating.

“I guess you’re right. Still, that doesn’t mean that I need to stop punching them.”

Thrawn had to laugh at that, grinning slightly as he bends down to kiss him on the lips.

“You’re my supernova. A force of nature. My own one-man army. Now why would I want to stop that?”

Before Orson could answer, he kissed him again, wrapped his arms around him, and then swept him off his feet. Literally. He let out a small yelp of surprise, his hands gripping Thrawn’s shoulder, as he carried him off to the bedroom. It was what the humans would probably refer to as “bridal-style”.

“Thrawn!” His boyfriend exclaimed, hands digging into the fabric of his shirt, a very specific and familiar sort of red colouring his cheeks. “I’m not an invalid, you fool, just a little bit beat up. _Put me down!_ ”

Orson was very forceful about it, and he even struggled lightly to make his point, but Thrawn only laughed, before setting him down gently on his bed. Well. _Their_ bed now. Krennic pulled him in before he could disentangle himself completely and, despite his split lip, kissed him full on the lips.

“You’re really dumb sometimes,” he grunted, flopping on his back, “but somehow, I like you. A _lot_.”

“No,” Thrawn corrected, helping him shrug out his crumpled and unbuttoned tunic. “I _love_ you.”

Krennic grins, a beautiful sight, despite the state of his lip and the bruises and bandages. Maybe even more so because of it. 

“I know. I love you too.”

* * *

**VI. ENVY**

“Are you really going to see him again tonight?”

They were laying in bed, Thrawn half-draped over him, the covers only half-pulled over their naked bodies. It was only late afternoon—classes out early today since one of their lecturers unexpectedly passed away—too early to be in bed, but they were bored, and Krennic doesn’t feel like doing the projects he took for extra credits. Senior year is a pain in the ass, he decided, and despite the fact that he enjoyed the workload—and the internship he took on the sidelines—it means less time to spend with his boyfriend, who’s also somewhat busy with more tactical simulations and his part-time job at the museum. If Krennic could sacrifice sleep forever in exchange of more time with Thrawn (and by extension, more time to drag him to social events), he’d do it in a heartbeat.

Thrawn stirred a little, and Krennic could imagine the look on his face—mildly contemplative, with only a hint of concern. In fact, if he closed his eyes he could recall every line of his face perfectly. 

He was as familiar as breathing at this point.

“For a discussion, after the memorial service. He had some interesting propositions. I know you loved his mind as well as I do, Orson.”

“I am,” he told him, a slight hesitance making its way into his voice. He could feel the other twist and shift, drawing closer, his fingers tracing patterns on his skin. Thrawn’s skin was colder than his, thanks to his slightly lower body temperature, but at this point Krennic barely noticed it. “And I do think Galen had interesting ideas. But I…missed you,” he admitted gingerly, tangling his fingers in Thrawn’s hair, “we haven’t had much time for each other recently.”

_And not much time left before graduation_ , was the unspoken truth. It sat between them like a hungry predator, looking at them with knowing eyes. Krennic could feel Thrawn’s hold on him tightened, as if that action alone could keep the truth at bay.

As if that alone could put time on hold, allow them to be together for a little longer. Three years seemed so awfully short.

“I missed you too,” the other expressed, a hint of emotion in his usually modulated voice. The edges of his accent had largely disappeared at this point. “I noticed that you’ve been spending a lot of time with him, too…”

Krennic dared to steal a glance at him, afraid of finding suspicion, and was met with jealousy, well-hidden in his tone but was there in his red eyes. Three years, and he’d learnt how to read those eyes just as well as he read his moods. He opened his mouth, about to answer, to defend himself, but Thrawn countered him with a kiss, a hard one, biting his bottom lip lightly.

“There’s nothing between us,” he told him, feeling the other boy’s body shift again, as he climbed on top of him, straddling him. There was another kiss before he could let another sentence out. “Nothing that you didn’t know and approve of, of course. I mean, I _was_ curious…”

Another fervent kiss, pressed madly on his lips, and Krennic sighed into it, pulling him closer. This was definitely his favourite extracurricular activity.

“Was he better than me?”

There was an unmistakable hint of jealousy in Thrawn’s voice now, a hard edge, sharp as a newly sharpened vibroblade. Krennic lets his hand wandered down to his thigh, lips responding to his kisses.

“Stars, no,” he laughed, enjoying this. It’s not everyday that he saw the Chiss jealous like this. _He_ was usually the jealous one. “I didn’t go all the way with him. As I said, nothing you didn’t know and approve of.”

Thrawn looked quite satisfied with that answer, lips seeking his neck, and Krennic complied, tilting his head back.

“And to think that you’ve only been a virgin three years ago…”

“I’m a fast learner,” Thrawn said, practically purring. Krennic couldn’t suppress a moan. “So long as you consider me better than him.”

“You are.” He told him, hand sliding down his exposed back. “And you’re _mine_ , baby.”

* * *

**VII. PRIDE**

There is always an ending, for every beginning.

It was a lavish ceremony, their graduation, attended by the Chancellor himself, and several dozen influential Senators from strategic Inner and Mid Rim worlds, perhaps even a couple from the Core. The grand ballroom, stashed away and rarely used except for events as pivotal as this one, felt more like Coruscant, like it was located right in the heart of it, despite the fact that neither of them had ever been there before.

In any case, their attention—after all the flash-and-bang of the ceremony was over—was immediately directed towards each other.

Orson was positively beaming, a successful graduate from the engineering/architecture track, already vied for by at least half a dozen big-name corporations, although he said that he was going into government service.

Thrawn is considerably more subdued, opted to remain in close proximity with a handful of his fellow Chiss exchange students, occasionally ventured out to accept and give congratulations to the other students. He met Galen Erso, who looked even more baffled than usual, surrounded by all the noise and the people, and he accompanied him for a bit, making polite conversation about their future and the relationship between art and science.

Orson found him afterwards, weaving through the crowds, a drink in hand. Thrawn favoured the other boy with a smile, and he steps closer, landing a sloppy kiss that nearly missed its target. Thrawn corrected his course gladly.

“We’ve made it,” he said, breathlessly, stepping back to appraise him. “Though this means you have _two_ degrees, haven’t you? And you— you’re in uniform again.”

“You’ve seen me in uniform often enough,” Thrawn retorted, playfully, hiding his smile behind his own drink. It was decidedly a non-alcoholic one. He was planning to have a long night with Orson, and he doesn’t want too much alcohol to ruin that. Their last night together. Tomorrow the Chiss students will already ship out, back to the edge of Republic space and then _home_ , that distant call of underground city and glaciers and creatures half-remembered aboveground in collective memory, and…well, he doesn’t want to think about the _after_. Not yet. “And having two degrees isn’t as glamorous as it sounds. It’s the experience that matters.”

“Leave the philosophising for later tonight, baby,” Orson scrunched up his face in what passes as mock angry, and Thrawn can’t help but laugh, linking his arm with him and pulling him closer. “Your _dress_ uniform, I mean. I don’t think I’ve seen that one before.”

“Haven't you? You tried to seduce me with _this_ once, when you’re drunk after Reeva’s post-final examinations party. I’d say it fell somewhere between _hilarious_ and _awful_.”

“Now, now,” he shushed him, sloppily landing another kiss, not really caring about the crowds or the party, “I’m bursting with pride right now. No need to ruin the mood. I’m so proud of you.”

Thrawn pulled him in for a long, lingering kiss, feeling that they draw some stares as they did so, but really, at this point, he could care less.

“I’m so proud of you, too,” he purred. “You still have anger issues but at least now you’re only punching people on _my_ command. So. Should we leave now?”

Orson glanced around the room once more, taking in the assembled graduates and the senators, the minor politicians and the senators’ aides, the professors and the lecturers. Looking, once more, at the gracefully arched ceiling, the tasteful decorations, the grand ornate double-door. Thrawn knew what he was doing: he was mentally saying goodbye.

Tomorrow is a new day, for both of them.

“I want to see your collection of _artwork_ ,” Orson said, with a roguish kind of smile, a throwback to their first night going back together, all those stolen glances and naive laughter, which ended up in tangled limbs and somewhere where they’re not quite yet lovers. Not quite beginning.

“Then come back with me,” Thrawn told him in return, smiling.

For all his military experience and knowledge, he can’t say exactly where their path will lead—if their trajectories would even cross again—but he know one thing for sure: their story had just begun.

They will meet again, one way or another. Thrawn was sure of it.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments & suggestions welcome (for example *coughs* part 2 where they reunite as Imperial officers), thanks for reading! hmu @ tumblr: orsonkraennic


End file.
